


Loss

by ancalime8301



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Community: shkinkmeme, Death, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson suffers two miscarriages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the shkinkmeme [prompt](http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/9516.html?thread=22465068): _There was a mpreg WIP from that last part that mentioned Watson having 2 miscarriages and now I really want a fic that goes futher into that idea.  
>  The 1st was right after he got together with Holmes. Their relationship with new and Watson was still recovering from being sick during the war (he was still thin and underweight).  
> The 2nd was that Holmes and Watson had a one night together before Reichenbach Falls. Mary offered to help the child but she died and then Watson lost the baby._

The first time, he didn't know what he could have had until it was taken away from him.

He had been living with Holmes for just over six months and they had been intimate for nearly five; though he enjoyed being in Holmes' company, his health was not yet what it should be and he did have the stamina to accompany Holmes as often as he would have wished. Sometimes his constitution utterly failed him and he was forced to stay home, bundled in quilts near the fire and still shivering from an ague.

On this occasion, vaguely flu-like symptoms had been plaguing him for nearly a fortnight, so he prescribed himself complete rest. Mrs. Hudson fussed over him but Holmes seemed discontent with his state, though Watson couldn't say whether it was because Watson couldn't go out with him or because their other activities were curtailed. Watson insisted that Holmes carry on without him, and Holmes did so.

Thus, Holmes was out on some investigation or other when Watson added a new symptom to his collection. The backache began after his meagre dinner, but it was a mere annoyance and did not trouble his sleep. Its presence seemed explained by the bleeding that started just before he rose in the morning, so he went to breakfast with a lighter heart. He had not menstruated in quite some time and had been concerned that something was amiss.

His relief dissipated as the passing of the day brought with it a sharp increase in both the pain and the bleeding. Mid-afternoon, his misery was compounded by a regular cramping low in his abdomen which drove him to attempt a hot bath in hopes of alleviating some of the pain.

The warmth helped some, but the water was quickly tinged pink with blood and there was material--clots, or perhaps bits of tissue?--that settled at the bottom of the tub. Watson was very near to panic when he discovered this latest complication; he would have bolted from the tub had he not been certain that he would faint if he tried to rise.

He pulled the stopper so the water and everything in it drained away, then filled the tub again from the taps, biding his time until he felt strong enough to stand and using the time to think.

He was filling the tub for the third time when the signs and symptoms fell into place. After a brief moment of reassurance that he was not, in fact, going to die (though it may feel like it), followed by a moment of awe that he and Holmes had created a child together, he was overwhelmed with grief and guilt--grief at losing the child and guilt that it was undoubtedly his fault the child didn't survive. He wasn't well enough to support another life and how he'd even managed to conceive was an utter mystery.

By the time he shakily stepped from the tub, the cramps had all but subsided, the backache was not nearly so severe, and the bleeding appeared to have slowed.

Watson retired early that night and resolved that Holmes should never know what had happened.

 

The second time, he knew exactly what he might have had and its loss nearly broke him.

He returned from Reichenbach sick in heart and body. Mary tenderly nursed him, coaxing him to eat when he had no appetite, cleaning up after him when his stomach rejected what little he ate, and keeping the bed neat and comfortable when he spent endless days hardly rising from it.

When he remained unwell for weeks, she tried in vain to convince him to consult another physician. He argued he felt the loss of Holmes keenly and was simply grieving.

When he failed to menstruate a few weeks after his return, she became concerned. He waved it away as being due to stress.

When his malaise continued and he failed to menstruate a second time, she became suspicious and questioned him closely about the nature of his activities with Mr. Holmes before Mr. Holmes' untimely demise. She knew they had been involved previously and recognized the potential significance of her husband's symptoms.

Watson feared she was right but did not wish to even consider the possibility. It would be more than he could bear.

When he failed to menstruate for the third month in a row despite having resumed limited activities and regained a small part of his appetite, he reluctantly consulted a physician who specialized in such conditions.

The confirmation of his fears left him reeling and Mary held him as he wept in their bed that night and confessed everything. She was too, too good to him, so understanding and compassionate as she assured him that the child would be raised as theirs.

That they could have a family because of him who was lost weighed on Watson's mind--Mary was barren and they both had resigned themselves to not having children. But now, thanks to Holmes who could not have known the gift he was giving them, they would have a baby they could dote upon and love all the more for the circumstances of his or her conception.

He could not help but wonder what Holmes would make of it as the weeks passed and the child's presence began to make itself visibly known despite his nearly startling thinness. His inability to retain much of what he'd eaten had taken its toll and he found himself hoping it had not adversely affected the child.

When he finally progressed to the point that the nausea was subsiding and he went several days without bringing anything back up, Mary was pleased and offered to fetch him anything he should want.

She was doing just that when she met her death.

It was not so quick as that, of course, but her outings to the shops and markets on his behalf led to her contracting the illness that killed her, of that he was certain. Once she began to show symptoms, she quickly grew delirious and thrashed upon the bed and he could do nothing for her but soothe the fever with cool cloths and sips of water.

She died a fortnight after she fell ill.

After her brief and sparsely attended funeral, Watson spent three days sitting in a chair and staring at their bed, unable to comprehend how he could have lost both his loves in the span of mere months. A vague sensation of movement in his abdomen reminded him that he was not entirely alone, and he forced himself mechanically through the normal motions of living every day for the sake of the little one. His existence held no meaning save for the small life within him.

Then it, too, left him.

He was roughly halfway through the pregnancy when his back began to ache rather severely. He dismissed it as normal and was more diligent about resting whenever possible. When the cramps began, they were subtle enough that he ignored them. They quickly built in strength and intensity but he denied anything was amiss until he went to change for bed and found his trousers were blood-stained.

Light-headed with shock and horror, he fell to his knees on the floor, clutching the damning cloth and trying to tell himself it was anything but what he knew was happening.

He spent a miserable night curled in agony upon his bed and when morning came, so too did the tiny, still infant. He could see nothing wrong with him, but he also could not stand to perform a thorough examination.

He put the child--his son, Holmes' son--in a small box and waited for the cover of darkness to bury him alongside Mary in the graveyard.

In the excruciating days that followed, he longed for the fever that took Mary to claim him as well but he remained as healthy as could be expected. Mrs. Hudson came to check on him and was aghast at his state; she took it upon herself to appear at his house at least once a day to bully him into eating something.

Under her watchful care he eked out an existence. He returned to practice on her advice that he needed to do something useful with himself and found himself reasonably satisfied with the decision.

Nothing would ever make up for losing Holmes, Mary, and the baby within six months of each other, but at least he could still do something with what remained of his life. It was little enough, but it was sufficient.

 

Then Holmes returned and turned his meager life on its head, bringing with him the excitement that his current occupation lacked and the love he had been so desperately missing. Watson returned to Baker Street and their former relationship without a moment's hesitation.

As he sat with Holmes before the fire, watching and listening as Holmes told of his journeys abroad, Watson felt a rush of affection and resolved anew that Holmes never find out the full extent of his bereavement. He'd had difficulties enough of his own, he didn't need to bear Watson's as well.


End file.
